Disbandment
by Samuel Brooks
Summary: What if the war was won? what if the team had to be disbanded? what if someone wouldn't let them move on?
1. Chapter 1

The BLU Spy let out a scream and fell to the ground. The giant hole in his chest pouring blood into a pool around his body. His fingers still twitched slightly, trying to take hold of the butterfly knife that had slipped out of his hand.

The RED Scout lowered his scattergun. The Spy had almost gotten the best of him, walking up under the guise of RED's Demoman. But a stray bullet, probably from a turret, had caused his disguise to flicker for the briefest second. The Scout's lightning-fast reflexes saved him, whipping out his scattergun and firing before the Spy could even draw the revolver from his suit.

Before once again taking off towards the BLU base, the Scout looked around the battlefield. He could see RED's Heavy firing mady with his minigun, as his good friend Medic kept him healthy. RED's Soldier was firing rocket after rocket at a BLU Engineer, who was desperately dodging the projectiles, as he tried to activate a Teleporter. RED's Sniper seemed to have gotten confident, and was striding across the battlefield blasting his SMG.

The RED team was having a suprisingly good day on the field. The Scout had always had a feeling that they would ultimately come out the victor in this rivalry, but lately he had noticed how close they really seemed to be to their goal.

An explosion near by brought the Scout back to reality. He saw that the BLU Engineer had abandoned the Teleporter and had rushed forward, obviously hoping to build a sentry. RED's Soldier raised his rocket launcher again, ready to blast the Engineer at a range to close to dodge from, and fired. The sounds of battle drowned out any click, but the Scout could tell the Soldier was out of ammo. The BLU Engineer took advantage of his luck, and began hammering away madly at his deploying sentry. The Soldier's shotgun didn't have the range to take him down, and he was too slow to run up to him.

"It's on you, kid!" The Soldier shouted to the Scout.

The Scout nodded and took off. The Engineer saw him coming and drew his shotgun. The scout strafed to avoid the blasts, and the shots coming from the now active sentry. As he neared his opponent, he whipped out his trusty bat. He leapt into the air, sailing over the sentry and coming down right on top of the Engineer. Swinging with all his might, the Scout revelled in the loud _CRACK_ of his bat meeting the Engineer's helmet. The Engineer stumbled back, dazed. It took less than a second for the Scout to land, steady himself, and finish the Engineer with his pistol.

Once the Engineer was dead, the Scout turned the sentry, and casually smashed it from behind with his bat. As the broken pieces of the machine crumbled to the ground, the Scout became aware that the battlefield had fallen silent. The Sniper was crouching down, sniper scope to his eye, scanning the enemy battlements. Heavy was grimacing in anticipation, waiting for another enemy to attack.

The voice of their Fearless Leader came from the intercom, "Builder's League United has been eradicated."

These words rang in the Scout's ears like music. The REDs and BLUs had been in a vicious stalemate for over 6 months. It had finally come to an end. The men on the battlefield all cheered victoriously.

"Woo-hoo!"

"Bloody good job!"

"Victory!"

"Ve have won ze war!"

The Scout cheered, proud of himself and his teammates for everything they had achieved. They had done it. They had won. It was all over. The Scout stopped cheering, suddenly realizing the true meaning of these words.


	2. Chapter 2

The team was gathered in the briefing room, a couple hours after the end of the battle. The Soldier was standing at the end of the table, finishing up another one of his long and not-so-historically-accurate speeches.

"...And just as Lincoln won the Revolutionary War by killing every single one of the British with his bare hands, you all have faced down incredible odds to wrestle your victory from the hands of your oppressors. Congratulations, men."

Everybody else, seated at the table, gave a slightly hesitant applause. The Soldier smiled pridefully, before taking his seat. taking his place, their Fearless Leader began a speech which confirmed the Scout's fears.

"Thank you, Soldier, for that very... interesting motivational speech. Now... I'd like to give you all a very well-deserved congratulations. Through your immeasurable contribution to our cause, Reliable Excavation and Demolition has defeated it's bitter opponent, and will immediately begin to take full advantage of all opportunities which arise from that. This day could not be possible without you all.

When this team was formed, there were some doubts. Who could have thought that nine men, all from different fields of expertise and very different walks of life, could work together as you have, and accomplish so much? Each of you have proven to be the best of the best in your respective talents, and Reliable Excavation and Demolition thanks you for bringing us where we could never have gotten without you.

However, It is my sad duty to inform you that, with the threat of Builder's League United eliminated, this team must be... disbanded. You're employment will be terminated, effective 12 pm tommorrow. In light of this unfortunate circumstance of victory, Reliable Excavation and Demolition has seen fit to grant each of you a sum of 5 million dollars."

The Leader left the room, leaving the team to stare at each other awkwardly. The Scout sat back and thought about her words. When he first joined the RED Corporation, he never thought he could get along with the others. But over time, they became the best friends he'd ever had. He'd always known it would come to an end eventually, but now it was different. There was an actual date. Quite literally an exact time when the team would have to split up, and go their seperate ways. And there was so little time left before then to spend with his friends.

**********

3 hours later, and the group was sitting in the base's Rec Room. They were hanging out for the last time, drinking and talking about the last 6 months.

"...So, I'm wearing my Heavy mask, right? This stupid BLU Medic has been healing me for a while, and obviously I don't need an uber, so I figure I'll have a litte fun with him."

Everybody chuckled as the Spy went on.

"I go over to the wall, and spray "FYI, I'm a Spy" he goes to read it, and he's all "what the-?" and bam! He's down."

Everybody laughed. The Medic took a long chug from his drink, before speaking up.

"I zuppose that's vat all ze BLU spies I've accidentally healed since zen were tryink to do. All it got zem vas a bonesaw in ze back of zeir heads."

Everybody laughed more.

"Oi, Mate," The Sniper said, to the Spy, "Remember all those times I would wait until just before you stabbed one of the BLUs to blow them away right in front of you?"

Everybody chuckled. The Spy just looked annoyyed.

"How many times did that even happen," He asked, "Twice?"

"Twice? Mate, half the fun of getting a headshot is knowing I'll get to here you whine about it later!"

The laughter continued, but other than that nobody said anything. Once the room quieted again, the Scout spoke up.

"You know, guys, I'm really gonna miss you all."

"I know what you mean, son," Said the Engineer, after a pause, "It feels great to have won, but I'm kinda sad it's over."

The guys all nodded in agreement. There was another brief pause.

"I'm gonna miss Sascha" The Heavy whimpered drunkenly.

The Scout smiled, "Don't worry, big guy. I'm sure she'll miss you, too"

"I'll tell ya what I'll miss," Said the Engineer, "gettin' to build anything I can imagine outta a single toolbox. I swear, I might use my 5 million to buy that thing from the RED Corporation."

"As for me," Mused the Medic, "I imagine I vill return to standard medicinal vork. A shame though, Feild Medic vork is kind of my family's tradition."

"Funny that, laddie," the Demoman claimed, even more drunk than usual, "I'll actually be returning to my family trade."

"Really, and vat might zat be?"

"Haggis."

A sudden silence fell over the room. The Engineer stared at his boots, the Pyro fiddled with one of the small gas cans clipped to his suit, the Heavy was staring blankly, clearly confused. The Scout prayed that the Heavy wouldn't ask what Haggis was.

To everybody's relief, the Soldier changed the subject.

"It was fun while it lasted, and I'm sorry it's over. But even if we won't be a team anymore, it's not like we'll never talk to each other again. I mean, most of us will be heading back to where we came from, but there's no reason we can't stay in touch."

Everybody agreed.

All was again silent for a couple minutes. After a while, the Engineer, now having drunken enough alcohol to give the Demoman a slight buzz, suddenly started singing.

"This was a triumph,

I'm making a note here:

huge success."

The Demoman joined in.

"It's hard to overstate my satisfaction."

One by one, the team joined in as well.

"Aperture Science."

"Ve Do vat ve must, because ve can."

"For the good of all of us,"

"Except the ones who are dead"

___________________

Well, that's Chapter 2. You'll notice it's quite a bit longer than Chapter 1. The reason for that is I realized Chapter 1 was quite a bit shorter than I had intended to make it, so I took what I was planning to divide into the 2nd and 3rd chapters and combined them into 2 scenes in the same chapter. Like what they did with Spider-man 3, except Disbandment Chapter 2 doesn't invoke a sensation similar to Sam Riami kicking you in the balls.

Anywho, the next few chapters won't have much action, which I think is okay, because I find I write dialogue better than action (you have an example of each now, so you tell me). Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three Months Later_

On the fifth turn of the monkeywrench, the giant bolt halted, tight in place. The Engineer gave it a few more thrusts to be sure it was secure. Stepping back, he wiped the sweat from his brow. The deserts of Texas weren't quite as hot as some of the days back in the Dustbowl, but it felt worse. Probably because everything The Engineer constructed nowadays had to be built bolt by bolt, where as all the RED Technology he'd grown fond of was virtually self-constructing.

"Alright, try it out," The Engineer called to one of his coworkers.

He'd been unsuccessful in his attempt to buy his beloved toolbox from the company. Builders League United had already become a prime competitor with such self-sufficient machinery, and apparently RED didn't want the few small businesses that had risen in RED's place to follow suite. So the most sophisticated of RED Technology was off-limits to civilians. The Engineer didn't mind so much. At least they let him keep his trusty wrench as a memento.

The Engineer's coworker turned a large red valve. There was a couple of unsure seconds of silence. After a moment, the giant metal tower the Engineer had just been working on began to rumble. A few more seconds, and a gurgling sound came from beneath their feet. Suddenly, the exposed end of a pipe near by started churning forth a bubbling black liquid.

"Yea, that's the stuff!" remarked the Engineer, "alright, cut it off."

The coworker turned the valve back around and the oil stopped pouring out. They'd spent all morning trying to get that gunk out of the ground, and with the job finished, The Engineer took a deep sigh of self-satisfaction. It didn't really matter that he could have done it in under a minute with the toolbox. The reward of a job well done always felt better the more work you put into it.

"Alright, we're done here for the day," The Engineer told his coworker, "Blu Streak Time."

********

The goats were standing in the pasture, eating casually. The harsh Australian outback only allowed sparsely grown patches of grass and weeds, and the animals had to share and eat sparingly. From some old, withered bushes just beyond the old fence around the enclosure, a pair of cold eyes watched them intensely.

Three weeks ago the dingo had been on the brink of starvation, and then it had found the goat herd. Since then, it'd killed 3 goats. The first, it had killed quickly, ate only briefly, and abandoned the rest, fearing being caught by the goat's master. With each successive meal, it had gotten more confident. Now, it was ready for a larger, more satisfying meal. Sniffing the air suspiciously, it smelled nothing it had to fear. The predator strode from the bushes, hopped effortlessly into the enclosure, and approached the unsuspecting goats.

Th load crack of a gunshot rang out in the air, By the time the sound reached the dingo, a bullet had already gone through it's skull. It dropped down lifelessly, without even a yelp. The goats looked up in surprise at the sound of the gun, noted the presence of the dead dingo, and then resumed eating.

The Sniper strode casually across the pasture. He stopped at the dead dingo, and looked don at it. It had been bothering him long enough, and no animal rights law prevented him from protecting his animals. The more traditional method of catching a dingo would be to set a trap, but the Sniper had instead opted for his rifle. His parents would probably want him to put his days with RED behind him, but he didn't care. Sniping was in his blood.

Five million dollars was more than enough money to retire, but the Sniper liked working on his parents' goat farm. It had all the pleasantries of a simple life, and caring for the animals wasn't a 24 hour job. Besides that, sharing a home with his parents was a way to rebuild his relationship with them. His father had never exactly appreciated his son's line of work.

As the Sniper cleaned up the body of the dingo, he thought about how his life had changed. Was opting to shoot the dingo rather than trap it a sign that he hadn't given up his past? Would he be able to re-adjust to a daily routine that didn't involve killing people? The Sniper had spent the past few months trying to work up the courage to get rid of his old rifle. The reason why he couldn't, he tod himself and others, was because it had been given to him by his father. But deep down, the Sniper had a much darker feeling; a feeling that unnerved him and got in the way of his re-adjustment. It was a feeling that his days of shooting people weren't over.

********

The car slowly cruised down the Boston street. It was a brand new '68 Charger. In the driver's street sat the Scout, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other hand hanging out the window. He'd bought the car with his 5 million dollar pay. There was still a ton of it left, but he'd placed it in a high-interest bank account. He'd wanted to prove to his father that his time in RED's army had taught him discipline and responsibility. It wasn't an easy thing to prove, especially since he still lived with his parents.

It's not that the scout couldn't get his own place if he'd wanted to. But the 6 months away from his family had convinced him that he still belonged at home. He had his own job, and payed rent to his father, at his own insistance. All in all, he had a great life now.

"Alright, there, right there," Said his friend, Jacob, in the passenger seat. Jacob was pointing to a girl on the sidewalk. She was blonde, looked about 17, was quite attractive.

"Okay," Agreed the Scout, "Don't screw this one up, okay?"

The Scout pulled the charger up next to the girl. She turned and glanced curiously as he rolled down the window.

"Hey, there, hot stuff," Said the Scout, smoothly, "My name's-"

"Have you ever rubbed your ass against fresh leather?" Jacob asked suddenly, stroking the seat.

The girl was taken aback with disgust. She strode away, looking over her shoulder and shouting, "Perverts!"

The Scout facepalmed, and glared at Jacob.

"Sheesh, what's her problem?" Jacob asked with complete seriousness, "Eh, screw her, she must be a lesbian."

The Scout glanced behind him, looking contemplatively at the bat sitting in the back seat. Not for the first time, he wondered if the satisfying clanking sound of his bat meeting up with Jacob's thick skull would be worth Jacob getting pissed off because of being hit in the head. The Scout sighed and turned back to the road.

"Well, so much for that," Said the Scout, "C'mon, let's get back to my place. Star Trek is on soon."

It was a few minutes later when the Scout walked through his front door. Jacob followed behind, and bee-lined towards the kitchen. The Scout's mother was on the phone. When she saw her son, she beckoned him over.

"Ya, he just came in, ya, here he is," She said into the phone, before handing it to the Scout, talling him, "It's for you, he says he's an old friend."

The Scout thanked her than put the phone to his ear.

"Scout? is that you, kid?" the familiar Texan voice said.

"Oh hey, how you been, Hard Hat?" The Scout answered.

"I've been fine, son," The Engineer said, soundly slightly unsure, "Sorry we haven't stayed in touch like we all planned."

"It's no problem," replied the Scout, "We're talkin' now, aren't we? what do ya need?"

"Uh... Somethin' happened, kid," The Engineer said.

There was a pause.

"What happened?" The Scout asked with concern.

"It's... It's the Sniper," The Engineer said, with pain in his voice, "He's dead, son."


	4. Chapter 4

A wall of fire stood before the Pyro. It spread across the floor, crawled up the walls, and blackened the ceiling. The Pyro's flame-retardant suit would protect him from catching fire, but the inferno could still kill him if he didn't get through quickly. The Pyro tensed up, gripping his fire axe tightly. It was now or never.

Bolting forward, the Pyro leapt through the blaze. He felt the fire engulf his body momentarily, but in seconds he was out of the blaze and on the other side. As he glanced back to the defeated obstacle, he heard a soft sound. Raising his axe, he approached a nearby door. It was secured shut, and the sound he'd heard was on the other side.

Using his fire axe, the Pyro made short work of the door. Stepping past the splintered wood, he walked into a small room. Judging by the small bed and the toys strewn about, it was a child's room. Sure enough, there in the corner was a young girl, quivering in fear from the fire consuming the rest of the building. The Pyro took a step toward her, but the sight of him seemed to scare the girl.

"It's ok," The Pyro said, only slightly muffled by his thin mask, "I'm a firefighter."

Lifting the girl up, The Pyro quickly exited the room, looking for a way out of the building. He couldn't go back the way he came, as the girl wouldn't be able to go through the large blaze with him. Desperately searching for a staircase, the Pyro went from corridor to corridor, clutching the child safely in his arms.

Just as the Pyro glimpsed what looked like a staircase down the hall, a deafeningly loud _Bang_ echoed behind them. The Pyro didn't have time to register the sound before a sudden, excruciating pain pierced his shoulder. The Pyro glanced down at the area; it was bleeding badly, and he knew what had caused it.

Slowly turning around, The Pyro came to face the source of the problem. There, in the smoky hallway of the burning building, stood the RED Spy, holding a smoking revolver.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi everybody, Samuel Brooks here.

First order of business, I'm really sorry that chapter 4 took so long and yet was so short and/or crappy. When I realized I hadn't posted a new chapter in a long time, I really wanted to give you something, so I put in what I had completed. I'm as disappointed as you all are, and maybe more.

"Alright, and vhat can I do for you?" asked the Medic, casually.

"Kind of had a bit of an accident, Doc. I had a campfire and I tried putting out the fire with my tequila and-"

The Medic held up his hand to stop the patient.

"I see. Vell, I've treated burns before. The process will be a little more complex with these tools, but it should be no problem."

The Medic took a moment to examine the charred black hand of the patient. Fortunately, the burns seemed to be confined to the outer flesh, without permanent damage.

"Alright, vhat ve're going to do iz this. I'm going to cut off vee burned flesh using my scalpel, check on ze condition of ze nerve endings, and zen bandage it so it can heal on its own."

The Medic set about his work, not taking any real notice of the grunts of pain from the patient. As he cut and peeled at the leathery burned skin, He thought about the way his job had changed since RED. Back then, a burn like this would more likely be caused by a flamethrower, and treating that wound would be a matter of seconds.

As he pondered these things, the phone on the desk beside him rang suddenly. Without looking up, the Medic took the phone and nudged it between his left shoulder and his chin.

"Hello?" The Medic asked, as he continued his work.

"I ga- have a- Hello Laddie! My Scrumpy done- want the- get on the bloody-"

"Oh, Hello, Demoman, vhat can I do for you?"

"I got the-hic- news that the Sniper and Pyro died. So- I'm repsec- rescep- paying my recsep- honouring them by getting drunk. Very unfotrun- unfrotun- unfortrun- bad accidents."

"Yes, a very..."

The Medic picked up the clipboard on the desk. His medicinal career gave him access to the autopsy reports of both Pyro and Sniper. He read the Pyro's cause of death: _Multiple bullet wounds to chest, limbs, and head. Post mortem burns due to death in a burning building._

"...A very unfortunate accident," finished the Medic, "Hold on, zis tendon here is giving me some trouble."

The Medic cut through the tendon with sudden force, resulting in the patient yelling out in pain. There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone.

"What is it you're doing exactly, laddie?"

"You caught me at vurk. I vouldn't usually have answered, but I know ze rest of ze old team is nervous, and might try to call."

"Good ob- of ya, doc. Okay, I gots to go. There's a lass down the bar make- making out with her boyfriend, and I think she's coming on to me."

The Medic heard the phone click, and he hung up. He could imagine how that would turn out for the demoman. He finished up the procedure on the patient and sent him from the room.

Sitting down at his desk, the Medic withdrew a flask from his coat. He flipped to the second page of the clipboard. There was the Sniper's cause of death, just five words, with so much meaning: _Single knife wound to back._ The Medic took a long drink from his flask.


	6. Chapter 6

The stereo was letting out a traditional Scottish symphony. The gentle notes spread through the massive apartment, falling on the ears of the apartment's only occupant. The Demoman casually sat back in his recliner, looking out the large picture window at the Manhattan Skyline.

The Demoman had considered returning to his homeland of Scotland, but he had instead opted for living in the full spoils of his new riches. He missed his quieter home on the rolling hills of Scotland at times, but compared to the roaring sound of gunfire and explosions that had once been the daily norm for him, New York was quite peaceful.

The Demoman glanced down at the small piece of paper taped to his house coat. The simplistically drawn smiley face was a memento of his old job. It had been the last thing many BLUs had seen before being blown to bits. Looking back, the Demoman was unsure how he'd come up with it. He'd gotten really drunk on the battlefield one day, and it had just seemed like a good idea.

The old Scotsman was drawn from his musing by a sudden knock on the door. Grunting softly as pulled himself to his feet, he wondered who would come to his door after midnight. He took a swig of Scrumpy and headed for the apartment door.

He came within inches of the door when he heard the loud banging sound. The flimsy lock on the door shattered, and wood splinters went flying into the room as the door flew open.

Standing there in the hall was the last man the Demo was expecting to see. And yet, the sight of him suddenly made the Demo realize it made perfect sense. The smoking revolver that had been used to shoot the lock disappeared with that cheap suit. The butterfly knife that all the RED mercenaries had learned to fear was drawn in the gun's place.

"Spy." Said the Demoman, flatly, "I can guess what you're here for."

The Spy grinned maliciously, and then tapped his watch. He faded and disappeared into thin air. The Demoman's pulse rose in anticipation, and he swung his Scrumpy bottle where the Spy had been standing. Somehow, the Demo had hoped the Spy hadn't moved, but the bottle connected with nothing as the Demo swung it around out the door.

_Swift little bastard, _thought the Demo, _He's already behind me, isn't he?_

He swung around just as the knife was brought down. The blade dug into his arm. Filled with a sudden, drunken rage, the Black, Scottish Cyclops swung his bottle violently at his attacker. The spy grabbed the Demo's wrist as it swung, and, with a sudden twist, sent the Demoman tumbling forward into the apartment.

_Wasn't expecting that, _Thought the Demo, _Never seen him do that one before._

The Demoman was laying face down on the floor. He rolled over to the left as the Spy's knife plunged into the carpet where he'd been laying. The Demoman struggled back up to his feet and tackled the Spy with as much force as he could muster. The Spy crashed down on his back, with the Demoman on top of him. Not wasting a second, the Spy used the momentum of the tackle to keep them rolling, until he stood over the Demoman. He drew back his fist and then punched the Demo squarely in the face.

The Demoman cursed and threw the Spy off of him, then once again got back up to his feet. The Spy charged back at him and landed another punch on the Demo's side. He followed it up with 2 more punches to his chest and face. He finished the combo with a knee nailing the Demoman right in the crotch.

The Demo stumbled back, gripping his crotch in pain. He looked around for his Scrumpy bottle; he had lost it at some point. He glanced back up to the Spy just in time to see him leap into a flying kick. The Demo took the blow in the gut, and was thrown back off his feet once again. He landed on top of his glass coffee table, which gave way under is weight and shattered into a million sharp pieces. His shoulder was cut badly by the flying glass. A single drop of blood fell onto the smiley face taped to his coat. The Demo looked down at the smiley face and, in spite of himself, grinned maliciously.

He stood up, grabbing his Scrumpy which he'd managed to locate. The Spy was moving forward again, putting the Demo directly between the Spy and the window. The Demo was beaten, tired, and injured. He wasn't going to win this one.

"It's all a bloody joke," laughed the Demo, as he took a chug from his bottle.

The Spy grabbed him by the front of his coat and shoved him backward. The Demo was thrown through the window, its pane shattering around him. The Demo plunged down towards the hard street below. The blood-stained smiley face drifting down after him.


	7. Chapter 7

The four men were gathered around the table in the Texan bar. They had agreed to gather together after the Demoman had died. The Engineer looked at the other guys. The Scout was kicked back, drinking a soda. He was only 17 years old, so he couldn't have a beer. Getting him into the bar had been a hassle in itself. The Heavy was holding a bottle of vodka in one hand, though he was far from intoxicated at the moment. The Soldier was drinking a large pint of beer. His helmet was drawn over his eyes as usual. The Engineer wondered why he still wore the helmet. It seemed the Soldier hadn't quite put his days of warfare behind him.

The TV attached to the wall in one corner of the bar began a news report. The field reporter was on the streets of New York, standing in front of a line of police tape. All the men at the table already knew everything she said.

"And so, with suicide ruled out, police are trying to find the perpetrator of this murder. There are as of yet no suspects, as records of the victim's history have proved difficult to dig up. Some informants have hinted that the victim may have been an employee of the mysterious RED Corporation, an organization which the government insists does not really exist. Police are also looking into reports by witnesses that the man responsible was visible through the broken window, before, quote 'vanishing into thin air'."

The report droned on. The Soldier took a drink of his beer, and then set it down.

"It's the Spy." He said, simply.

"It don't make any sense," said the Scout, "Why is he doing this?"

"The Spy was treacherous by nature," mused the Engineer, "It was his job. But still, it doesn't make sense that he'd want to kill us."

"Is it little BLU Baby Spy?" asked the Heavy

"Can't be," said the Scout, "I killed the last one of BLU's spies the day we defeated them."

"Men, we can figure out why he's doing it after we stop him from doing it again," stated the Soldier, "Our number 1 priority is to neutralize the enemy."

"Neutralize the enemy?" asked the Engineer, chuckling, in spite of himself, "we ain't mercenaries anymore."

"True, our employment is over," admitted the Soldier, "but the Spy has already killed three of us, and you can bet he'll come for the rest. If we want to stay alive, I think we need to work together."

"Speaking of working together," said the Heavy," Where is Medic?"

"I called him and told him we were meeting," The Engineer said, shrugging, "He said he wasn't interested. I told him we thought it was the Spy who was killing us, he said he didn't care."

"Why wouldn't the Medic care about something like this?" asked the Scout, in surprise

"It's not like he ever really cared for our well being anyway," reasoned the Engineer.

They all thought about what it had been like working with the Medic. How he healed them only when it was necessary. The way he seemed to prefer killing the enemy over healing his allies. The inescapable feeling that he only did his job so that he'd get the chance to perform his medical experiments...

"Think he's working with the Spy?" asked the Scout, breaking the silence

"Maybe," agreed the Soldier, "Assuming the Spy hasn't already gotten to him and is posing as him."

"If the Spy was posing as the Medic, he likely would have come here," The Engineer said, thoughtfully, "it'd just make it easier to take us out."

"So where do we go from here?" asked the Scout

"We'll pay the Medic a visit," said the Engineer, "Find out what his problem is, and then we'll-"

The Engineer was cut off by a beeping from something in his overalls. He reached in and pulled out his portable phone*. The voice coming from it when he answered was audible to everyone.

"Boss, it's me. There's something going on at the oil field. The Rig is covered in electricity or something, and I think it's breaking down."

The Engineer put the phone away and stood up.

"Spy sappin' my oil rig!" declared the Engineer angrily.

He rushed out the door. The team jumped out and followed him. It wasn't very far to the oil field. Maybe they could catch the Spy...

*Yes, I know, there were no cell phones in 1968. But hey, the game has teleporters, healing guns, invisibility cloaks, sandwiches that heal bullet wounds, etc. Just imagine that the Engineer himself invented it.


	8. Chapter 8

The Engineer's pick-up truck came to a halt at the edge of the oil field. The angry Texan driving it stepped out and surveyed the scene. His oil rig was alive with electricity, and clearly about to fall apart. It wasn't the only one, either. There were 5 rigs in sight, and the Spy was sapping them all. It was their sheer size alone that had kept them from being destroyed already.

The rest of the group piled out of the truck as the Engineer rushed to save his rig. He was within inches of it when it finally gave way. Giant bolts exploded out of sockets, nails and screws were ripped from metal. The entire machine lurched and broke to pieces. And then the flying sparks ignited the oil.

The explosion threw metal parts, dirt, and dust everywhere. The team members still next to the truck lost sight of the Engineer in the massive cloud of dust. The explosion caused a chain reaction, destroying the rest of the rigs with the same destructive force.

Slowly the dust cleared, and the Engineer got up from the ground. He was miraculously uninjured, but he didn't show any sign of relief. All that was inside him was a boiling rage towards the Spy.

"Where is he?!" yelled the Engineer back to his comrades.

They all looked around, trying to spot him; obviously, not an easy task. Suddenly, the Soldier caught a glimpse of him. He decloaked just as he rounded the corner around a small tool shed.

"There he is," shouted the Soldier, "We can't let him get away."

They all took off after the Spy. Along the way, the Engineer picked up a wrench lying amongst the rubble. The scout drew his bat from his backpack. The heavy clenched his massive fists.

"Scout, Engineer, you go around the left," ordered the Soldier, taking command, "Heavy and I will go right."

The Soldier picked up a small shovel leaning against the side of the tool shed. They slowly went around the shed, hoping to cut the Spy off. They met up on the other side, with no trace of their enemy. They tensely looked around, unable to find him until he made a move.

Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rang in the air. The bullet hit the ground an inch from the Engineer. Everybody whipped around and saw the Spy crouching on top of a pile of crates.

The Spy lowered his revolver, clearly irritated that he'd missed. He looked down at his former allies, and grinned.

"Well, it appears our band of merry men has come together again," said the Spy, with a hint of jeering, "Where is the Medic? I haven't killed him yet."

"It's over, Spy," said the Soldier, ignoring the question, "give up."

"I'm afraid I'm not quite finished," replied the Spy, mockingly, "none of us are."

The four of them started to close in on the Spy's position, but he completely ignored it. The Spy acted as if he wasn't threatened at all, and his cockiness was infuriating.

"Why have you been doing this?!" demanded the Scout.

"You will find out in due time," assured the Spy, "unless I kill you before I explain."

"...or I kill you before you have the chance to explain!" yelled the Scout.

He leaped up to the where the Spy was crouched. The Spy quickly stood up and jumped from the crates. The Scout's bat missed the Spy's head by inches as the Spy dropped down towards the others, turning around in the air.

He landed directly behind the Soldier, plunging his butterfly knife into his back as he did so. The Soldier screamed and dropped down. The Engineer swung his wrench at the Spy, but he was already dashing away, cloaking as he ran. The Engineer continued swinging blindly, even after the Spy had disappeared from sight.


	9. Chapter 9

They covered the Soldier's body with a tarp from the shed. They called for a coroner, and then sat down to think things through.

"It's my freakin' fault," groaned the Scout.

"What do you mean?" asked the Engineer.

"We were talking face-to-face with the Spy. We had a chance to get some answers," the Scout said, "instead; I got pissed off, blew our chances, and then got the Soldier killed."

"The Spy killed him, not you," The Engineer reassured him, "He could have killed any of us, even you. He was probably planning to take one of us out from the moment we got here."

"Oh, so I got the Soldier killed to save my own ass?" the Scout said, with pain in his voice, "What kind of coward does that?"

"The Spy had a gun. You attacked him with a bat. That's not cowardice," The Engineer reasoned, "It might not have been a smart move, but it wasn't cowardly."

"It doesn't matter if it was cowardly. It doesn't matter what would have happened if I hadn't done it. All that matters is that the Soldier is dead, and it's my fault!"

The Engineer hit the Scout; slapped him in the face with his gloved hand. The Scout took the blow, and hung his head. The Engineer put his hand on the Scout's shoulder.

"Listen to me, kid," The Engineer demanded, "There is a man out there who wants us all dead. The only way we're going to survive is if we kill him first. But he's a mastermind. If we hope to beat him, we _have to stay focused. _So get a grip, stop blaming yourself for what happened, and focus on the task at hand!"

They both breathed heavily. The air was thick with tension. The Heavy looked awkwardly between the two of them. The Scout looked briefly thoughtful. Then he nodded slowly.

"You're right," Said the Scout, stuttering a little, "thanks."

"So we're going to kill Spy?" asked the Heavy.

"I don't think we have much choice," the Engineer replied, "Come here, take a look at this."

He led them around the corner of the shed, which they had been sitting next to. There, lying in the dirt was a body. The dead man was wearing a gray jumpsuit. He was obviously an oil worker.

"That man was one of my coworkers," Sighed the Engineer, "The Spy killed him just for crossing his path. Not to mention he destroyed tens of millions of dollars worth of drilling equipment. And he killed that little girl whose body was found with the Pyro. He has no problem killing innocent bystanders. If we're going to face him, we have to do it where he can't hurt anybody."

"Where can we fight him?" asked the Heavy.

"We need to set up a trap for him. He has to come find us, and when he does, we'll be waiting," The Engineer explained, "And it's best if we wait for him on a battlefield we're familiar with."

"Are you saying…?" The Scout began, catching on.

"Dustbowl, boys," The Engineer declared, "We're going to Dustbowl."


	10. Chapter 10

The Medic awoke with a start. After the involuntary muscle spasm, however, he remained with his face down on his desk. After a few minutes of lying there on the hard wood, he slowly pushed himself back up to a sitting position. How had he fallen asleep at his desk? He figured he must have overworked himself (again), but he literally could not remember the events leading up to his awakening. Slowly he stretched, and his fingers brushed against the answer.

His flask was laying there on his desk. The cap was off, but nothing had poured out. It wasn't a strong liquor, but the Medic wasn't usually a heavy drinker, either. The Medic thought over the volume of the flask, how much alcohol it would put in his system, and whether or not that would cause a blackout. As he arrived at the conclusion that, no, one flask couldn't have done it, an idea occurred to him.

The Medic opened up the lower left drawer of his desk. The 40 oz bottle that had been used to fill the flask was there, and it was also empty. The Medic removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"You are nearing rock bottom, mein old friend," He said to himself, "Stop doing zis."

One glance at the paperwork on his desk told the Medic that he wouldn't be stopping any time soon. They were the autopsy reports for both the Soldier and the Demoman. The Demoman had died from a fall of several hundred feet. The Soldier, like the Sniper, had been killed by a knife to the back.

_In another world,_ thought the Medic, _perhaps a world where I wasn't such a selfish prick, I had told the Demoman that the Spy was responsible for the Pyro and Sniper's death. The Spy had broken into the Demoman's penthouse to find it the Black, Scottish Cyclops gone, and the place wired to explode._

A sudden voice brought him back to the real world. _The world where you're a traitor,_ his subconscious quickly added.

"Sir, are you alright?" asked the young, female intern at the door, "I just came to drop off these urine sample results for your patient, Mr. Lerner, and I saw you sort of swaying back and forth."

"Oh, danke, Miss Rosenthal. Don't vorry about me, I vas just sleeping," Said the Medic. _You were drinking while on call, far from the worst thing you've done, but no less disgusting._

The intern, Kate Rosenthal, smiled. It was a smile both of pity and admiration.

"You work far too hard, sir." She told him, "You need to relax sometimes, take a break, maybe have a drink after a long shift."

The Medic laughed. It was a low, guttural, spurt of a laugh. Kate glanced at the Medic surprise. The Medic put his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me. Just a little cough," Said the Medic. _Look how comfortable you are lying to people, just like you lied to your friends._

"Zey vere not mein friends! Zey vere just co-vurkers!" The Medic blurted angrily to himself. Kate, still standing in the doorway, holding the test results in a small folder, jumped in surprise at the outburst.

"Sir? Is… is there something wrong?" she asked sincerely.

"Ugh. Something is very wrong. I made a very big mistake, Miss Rosenthal."

"Please," said the young woman softly, as she came in and sat down in front of his desk, "call me Kate."

"Kate… I… I think I may have betrayed some old coworkers of mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Vun of my old coworkers appears to have gone renegade, and is hunting down the others. He is murdering them."

"My God," said Kate, "That's terrible."

"There were 9 on our team. I was one, and the man who is killing the others was one. 4 others are dead."

"You said _you_ betrayed them. This other man is murdering people, not you."

"I… I…" the Medic stammered. _Go on, admit it, you coward._

"I knew who it was before anyone else, back when only 2 were dead. But I didn't tell them when I had the chance."

"Why not?" asked Kate, confused.

"I figured the rest of them could stop him. But if I tried to help, I'd be putting myself at risk. I was willing to sacrifice them to prevent him from getting to me. But now he has killed 2 more and I doubt those left will be able to stop him, and then I'll be next."

Spilling this much information about the situation, the danger he was in, and his own treachery was not something he had intended to do in a 2 minute conversation. When he was done, his head drooped to the desk, and he waited for a response.

"Okay… I'm going to get some coffee, and then we can talk about this. Is that a fresh pot?" She asked, pointing over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure. I've been passed out drunk on my desk for a few hours; I don't know when it was made."

Kate stood up, paused for a moment, and placed the folder containing the test results in front of the Medic. Then she walked past him to the back of the room.

The Medic stared at the folder blankly. Kate had just come to drop it off and, within moments, was now offering him comfort and emotional support. She was such a nice girl. He already felt better just telling her what had happened; imagine what he'd feel like after they discussed it for a while. Perhaps he'd get a coffee too, and then-

It hit him suddenly. There was no coffee pot in his office. The nearest coffee machine was down the hall. Why was Kate standing behind his desk right now?

A wave of realization came over the Medic. His breath tight in his throat, he opened up the folder she had placed in front of him. It didn't have Mr. Lerner's urine sample results in it. There was a single sheet of paper inside. It was blank except for 5 words.

_FYI I am a Spy._


	11. Chapter 11

The Spy emerged from the tunnel, and into the bright sunlight. Dustbowl looked as it always had: a quiet little mining facility, whose peacefulness belied the vicious battles that had taken place there. The small buildings that dotted the landscape had little damage, despite the numerous explosions that had gone off around and even inside them.

The Spy had, with his former team, defended this area time and time again from the BLUs. The Spy quite enjoyed the irony that he was now invading it. Somewhere in this place was the remainder of his team. He admired that they were attempting to fight back, however futile the effort was.

The Spy heard the soft hum of machinery nearby. He turned to the tiny little shack to the right of the exit of the tunnel. He fondly remembered all the times he would crouch inside there, waiting for the invading BLUs to march past, never suspecting to be ambushed from behind less than twenty feet from the entrance to the area.

Peering inside the shack, the Spy saw a teleporter exit spinning away, creating a ring of light on top of it. The Engineer had procured a new toolbox. No doubt the Scout and Heavy had also armed themselves. They had probably found some hidden storeroom.

Did the team already know he was here? If he continued on, it would be all too easy for the Heavy to teleport in behind him, and obliterate him with that giant gun of his. The Spy considered the likely hood of this, and decided that the teleporter was an unnecessary risk.

He attached the sapper casually, and then continued on. He came to the end of the small valley, and considered the three paths to take. Through the shed, to the one-way gate? Down the narrow path on the left? Or the path on the right, which offered two exits?

Ultimately, he settled on the path to the right. It was the hardest path on which to ambush him. First, however, he glanced into the shed which housed Dustbowl's first control point. He had risked his life on multiple occasions to protect that little disk of metal from the BLUs. Now, here it was: just cold metal sitting in an unused shed miles from any civilization. It looked as if RED hadn't even touched it since BLUs last attack; all of that effort for nothing.

The Spy walked through the tunnel, and emerged on the ground level exit. In the distance, he heard the repetitive beeping of a sentry. The Spy reached into his disguise kit and his Engineer mask. Carrying his fake wrench, he strode to the sound. He found the sentry, along with a dispenser, next to the large silo. It was odd that the sentry was set where it was, visible from the exits of the tunnels, but too far for the exits to be in range. The Red Spy knew the Engineer would often build his sentry around the side of the silo, where the BLUs wouldn't be able to see it until it shot them from the side.

Why would the Engineer set up a sentry anyway? He knew the Spy could easily disguise past it. Why even bother building it? It was as if the Engineer wanted it to be sapped.

A thought occurred to the Spy. Had they been intending to use the teleporter either? What better indicator that the Spy had arrived than a teleporter being sapped? The Spy chided himself; it was such an obvious trap in retrospect. The Spy stood there, readying to cloak himself, and waited.

***

The Scout, Engineer and Heavy were sitting in the Resupply, playing poker when the Spy arrived. When the Engineer suddenly bolted up and announced that the Spy had sapped his teleporter, they leapt into action. Each grabbed the weapons they had acquired after breaking into Dustbowl, then rushed out.

The Heavy ran to the building that housed the second control point. He hid inside, around the corner, waiting for his cue. The Scout ran to the silo and hid there, out of sight to anyone standing near the sentry. The Engineer hid a little further back from the Scout.

The Scout held his scattergun tensely. They had been endlessly practicing this for an entire week. As soon the Engineer yelled that the sentry and dispenser were being sapped, the Scout and Heavy would burst out, guns blazing. The Spy would be reduced to ribbons where he stood.

The Spy was taking longer than the Scout had suspected. Was he going to sap the sentry or not? It didn't matter. The plan was perfect. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing could possibly-

"Om Nom Nom Nom"


	12. Chapter 12

The Scout swore in frustration ad leaped out into the open. Firing his scattergun madly, he peppered the field with pellets. When this failed to illuminate the silhouette of the Spy, The Scout darted his head around, looking for any sign of him.

He was there, just entering the building of the second point, drawn by the Heavy's obnoxiously loud eating. The Scout took off, desperately hoping to catch him before the Heavy's stupidity got him killed. Realizing he didn't have time to reload his scattergun, he switched to his bat, glad for the chance to bash the shape-shifting, traitorous bastard's head in.

As he approached the building, he heard the Heavy's scream. Panicking, the Scout ran in the door, expecting to see the Heavy dead and the Spy already slipping away. Instead, he saw the Heavy and the Spy locked in a one on one brawl. It turned out that the Heavy finished eating just before the Spy got to him. The Heavy had turned just as the Spy swung his knife, which meant that, instead of getting the Heavy in the back, the Spy had merely stabbed him in the arm.

The Heavy swung his massive fists, and the Spy dodged the blows, jabbing at him with his knife. The Heavy could survive a few slashes to his chest and massive gut, but at this rate, he was losing. The Scout drew his pistol, trying to get a shot.

"Heavy, watch out!" he yelled, the giant Russian's body blocking the much smaller frame of the Spy.

The Spy was momentarily distracted by the Scout, whose presence he had not yet noticed. The Heavy took the opportunity and punched the Spy right in the face. The Spy was thrown back and slammed against the wall. His nose was crushed and bent, with blood running from the nostrils. The Scout fired his pistol, aiming for the head.

The Spy ducked at the last possible moment and the bullet struck the wall. Realizing he couldn't hope to take on the both of them, he took off in the direction of the one-way gate. The Scout fired a few shots after him, but missed.

"Get your ass back here, you coward!" The Scout jeered, before turning to the Heavy, "I hope that sandwich tasted good, pal, because you just-"

The Scout's complaint was cut off by a revolver bullet hitting the Heavy directly in the chest. It was followed by two more to the gut. The Heavy stumbled back as the Spy lowered his revolver and leapt off the edge of the platform just outside the gate. As he dropped to the ground, he cloaked again, vanishing completely as he ran for the tunnels.

"He ran again, did he?" panted the Engineer, who had just arrived, "Big surprise. C'mon, we gotta go catch- Good God, Heavy are you okay?"

"Little baby gun cannot kill me," The Heavy said, gripping his bloody chest, "I just need to get to dispenser."

The Scout nodded and he and the Engineer went after the Spy. They ran all the way to the entrance of the tunnels, and tried to figure out which way he'd gone. They quickly realized they had to split up.

"I'll go left, you go right," said the Engineer, "we'll corner him on the other side and blow his damned head off."

"Is it a good idea splitting up, considering who we're up against?" the Scout asked.

"We don't got much choice," The Engineer admitted, "But with your speed, you ain't an easy target for him, and I wouldn't be alive today if I couldn't outsmart a Spy."

They took down their separate tunnels. The Engineer moved slowly, listening intently for the sounds of footsteps, or the distinct sound of the Spy uncloaking. He pointed his shotgun into every corner, and at every shadow. He glanced up the staircase that led back to the second point, but dismissed the idea. It wasn't the Spy's nature to just run back to a botched attack without forming a plan.

The Engineer slowly approached the end of the tunnel, and found himself nervous. The Spy wouldn't just let himself be chased down again. He'd have a trick up his sleeve. What if the Spy had already ambushed the Scout? No, that wasn't very likely. The tunnel the Scout had taken was narrow, and didn't offer much chance to get behind a pursuer. It wasn't like this tunnel with its twists and turns and short dead ends, and…

The knife stabbed into the Engineer's back with force. The Engineer dropped instantly, the shotgun falling from his hands. He didn't scream, just grunted. As the knife was pulled out, everything went black.

The Spy casually flicked his cigarette onto the Engineer's body. Drawing out a new one, he pondered whether to go back and finish off the Heavy, or go forward and kill that meddlesome boy. He settled on going forward; the Scout would be tricky to take down, it was important to take him by surprise. As he strode forward, his body was enveloped in smoke. When it dissipated, he looked identical to the body on the ground behind him.

*****

The Scout ran out of the tunnel, and looked around. He fired his scattergun directly to his left and right, once again hoping to hit the Spy blindly. Continuing on, he ran ahead to the capture point shed. Firing a few shots in, the Scout once again found nothing. Where was the Spy? He couldn't have gotten far with them right on his heels.

Turning away from the door to the shed, the Scout saw the Engineer walking towards him. He had been approaching quietly, as if he hadn't wanted the Scout to know he was there.

The Scout raised his pistol to the sky and fired, then aimed it at the Engineer's head. The Engineer looked at him quizzically, as if they hadn't been planning this.

"Well, go on," Said the Scout.

"What do you mean?" asked the Engineer.

"Fire your weapon so I know you're not the Spy."

The "Engineer" paused. He looked from left to right, trying to figure out a distraction.

"Kid, we don't have time for this," He said, "The Spy could be anywhere, we can't find him if we're threatening each other like this."

"We have found him," The Scout said casually, and fired.

The visage of the Engineer disappeared as the Spy hiding behind it ducked and fired his weapon. The Scout's bullet shot past the Spy's shoulder. The Spy's bullet hit the Scout's headset, shattering it.

The Scout screamed in a rage as he ran at his adversary. The Spy was surprised by this sudden outburst, and his second shot was delayed. When he fired again, the bullet passed under the Scout, who was leaping through the air, bat held high over his head. His bat made connection with the Spy's head a split second before his feet made contact with the ground.

The Spy stumbled back, and raised his revolver to fire again. The Scout, however, followed up his first strike with a second to the chest. The Spy was thrown back and almost fell backwards. He steadied himself, only to see the Scout coming in for a third hit. Knowing he was doomed otherwise, the Spy fired blindly.

The bullet ripped through the Scout's kneecap, and tore apart the joint on the other side. It exploded out the back of the Scout's leg, with a spray of blood and tiny chunks of bone. The Scout screamed in pain and dropped his bat. He fell to his knees and gripped his wounded leg. The Spy shook himself out of the disorientation from the Scout's blows and straightened his tie.

The Scout looked up at him, hatred in his eyes. The Spy, filled with his familiar confidence as if the Scout had never gained the upper hand at all, jammed his revolver in the Scout's mouth.

"You're pathetic, boy," laughed the Spy.

The Scout closed his eyes and waited to die. He wondered if he would actually hear the gun firing, or if he'd die so fast everything would just shut off.

"Take comfort in the fact that you never had a chance," jeered the Spy.

The loud crack of a gunshot rang out. The Spy's elbow exploded into a bloody mess. In horror, he let the revolver go, and it slid from the Scout mouth and fell to the ground. The Spy and the Scout both turned to where the gunshot had come from.

The Engineer stood in the tunnel entrance. He slumped against the wall, bleeding profusely and panting heavily. He held his smoking shotgun as if it was the heaviest thing he'd ever carried.

"You missed my spine, you son of a bitch." The Engineer whispered.

The Scout whipped his pistol out and shot the Spy in the crotch. The Spy yelled, but still hadn't given up. He reached into his coat with his still functioning left arm and drew his knife. The Scout shot him in the shoulder and then the shot the knife itself out of his hand. Summoning all his strength, the Scout stood up on his wounded leg. He aimed at the Spy's head, point blank. There was no way out of this. The Scout's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Wait! Wait!" shouted the Spy, "Just wait, and listen to me."

The Scout almost laughed at the plea. After all this, the Spy expected to be let go? Still, the Scout realized that the Spy couldn't escape. He would hear him out, for now.

After a pause, the Spy spoke.

"The Sniper kept his rifle. The Pyro became a firefighter to stay near his obsession. The Engineer went back to work in the oil fields though he didn't need the money. And all of your first reactions to what I did were to fight back, in Dustbowl, no less.

Do you think we've moved on? Put our mercenary work behind us? Damn it, look where we are! Did you think you could return to a normal life, ever?

I was a spy in WW2. I stalked the battlefield slaughtering Nazis. I was in the damned bunker when Hitler shot himself. Why would I ever go back to that?

Because I needed it, Scout. We all need it. This war has awakened something evil inside of us; something primal. We can never change who we are know."

The Spy's words felt like bullets striking the Scout's very soul. He felt like vomiting.

"Now listen to me, boy. Now that you know, you can't kill me. If you pull that trigger, all you'll accomplish is proving me right. Are you willing to do that? Is it really worth that price?"

The Scout stared at him, and he stared back. The Spy's eyes were searching the Scout, trying to find any hint as to how the Scout was taking it. The Scout's hand, and the gun in it, began to tremble.

"I pay it gladly." The Scout said.

The bullet exploded from the gun and found its mark between the Spy's eyes. It ripped through his brain and burst through the back of his skull. The Spy gave one last look of amazement and then fell to the ground, dead.

The Scout glared down at the bloody corpse, with an anger and hate he had never felt. For a moment, the Scout wondered if the Spy had been right. Then, he turned his gaze away from the body and the anger vanished. He had killed the Spy, and now he felt nothing.

He ran over to the Engineer to help. The Engineer had slid down into a sitting position and his breathing was becoming irregular.

"Thanks for saving my ass back there, man," the Scout said.

"No problem. God, I never knew how much a backstab actually hurts," grunted the Engineer.

"Well, I'm just glad you're alive," Laughed the Scout, "c'mon let's get you to the Dispenser."


	13. Epilogue

The Engineer sat at the bar, gulping back his beer. As soon the glass was empty, he placed it down on the coaster and ordered another. It had been 2 weeks since they had brought down the Spy, and now the Engineer was drinking in the memory of their fallen team-members.

The TV above the bar was turned to the late night News. Once again, the Engineer already knew the story that was being reported.

"…bringing an end to his murderous rampage. The total body count rests at 8, including an Australian farmer, a firefighter and a young girl in America, a retired Scottish-African-American, A WW2 Veteran, A Texan oil field worker, A German doctor, and an intern at the same hospital. The body of the killer was found dumped in front of a Boston police station, with multiple bullet wounds, and had apparently been urinated on. Investigators have no suspects as to who killed him."

The Engineer was buzzed but not drunk when his phone rang. Drawing it from pocket, he poised his thumb over the talk button. Downing another mouthful of Blue Streak, he answered.

"Hello?" asked the Engineer, slurring just a little.

"Hey, Hard Hat, it's me," replied the Scout.

"Hey, kid, how have you been?" asked the Engineer, sensing the hint of depression in the Scout's voice.

"I was wondering if we could, ya know, talk about stuff." The Scout said.

"Is this about what the Spy said before he died?" asked the Engineer.

At this comment, the bartender glanced over to him curiously. The Engineer held up his empty glass, silently telling him it was none of his business. As the bartender set about refilling the glass, the Scout spoke up.

"I just- I'm not sure what to make of it all. Are we nothing more than killers, Engi?"

"Listen, kid, The Spy was always more of a psychopath than a psychologist. God knows if he meant what he was saying or if he was just hoping to confuse you."

The Scout was quiet as he digested these words.

"If he didn't mean it, why was he really trying to kill us?" he asked, finally.

"That's a secret that might have followed him to his grave," The Engineer admitted, "We may have to accept that we'll never know for sure."

"If I didn't kill him," The Scout mused, "If we'd- I dunno- beaten him up and then demanded the truth from him-"

"Hey, he had been about to kill you seconds before. He'd all but murdered me just before that. The knowledge that he's dead is, for me, far more important than knowing why the lunatic was after us in the first place."

There was silence on the other end.

"Son, you saved my life. And I thank you for that. And you saved the Heavy, and he's thankful for that too. You're angry at yourself for killing a madman who would have slaughtered you without a second thought, and that proves just how wrong the Spy was."

"Thanks, Engi," The Scout said, after a while, "Listen, if I ever need-"

"You can call me any time, kid," The Engineer assured.

"Thanks," sighed the Scout.

They talked for a few minutes more. Eventually they told each other they'd talk later, and hung up. The Engineer went back to his beer, but could only sip at it between long, thoughtful pauses.


End file.
